


31 Drabbles to Show I Love You

by bluegreenduck



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegreenduck/pseuds/bluegreenduck
Summary: Short drabbles inspired by 31 prompts. Clint/OC.





	1. Binary

Binary. bī-nə-rē. A division into two groups or classes that are considered diametrically opposite.

She supposed that life was not art. But, as she pushed down on the man's bullet wound, frantically trying to stop the bleeding, she supposed that sometimes, just sometimes, it may be. Next to her, the sniper who had pulled them both from the wreckage was taking pot shots at any insurgent who stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.  
“He’s dead. Leave him.”  
She looked down at the man beneath her fingers, his lifeblood no longer frantically pouring out of him, but sluggishly, as if the source was emptied.   
“He can’t be! I can save him!”  
“Listen, doc, I’m sure you could if the hospital was still standing, but, as it is, he ain’t breathing!”  
She knew he was right. Knew the man beneath her fingers was long gone. But something in her couldn’t let go. Not now. Not when she was so close. “I can’t leave him!”  
“No choice!”  
Before she could even think to be angry, think to argue, he had pulled her up, yanking her towards the Humvee and pushing her in the door as it opened. He dove in after her, yelling at the driver to pull out.  
Something splashed on her hands. Tears. She didn’t wipe them away as her shaking, red hands came into stark focus. She had been an ER doctor in one of the toughest hospitals in Iraq. They had treated everyone from soldiers to insurgents to children. Now, the hospital lay in ruins behind her. The UN had declared that all American civilians needed to be evacuated. She looked over at the special ops next to her, only to find him watching her with those strange prying eyes of his.   
It would take them a year to see each other again. Stateside, this time. A week after for him to ask her out.   
A healer and a killer.   
What was a girl to do?


	2. Master

Master. mastər. To acquire complete knowledge or skill in (an accomplishment, technique, or art).

Thud.

She watched as he fired arrow after arrow into the target across the yard leaning against the old barn. He had been out here for hours already, the tension inside the old farmhouse rapidly approaching unbearable after her grandfather spit out choice words about his past.   
She loved her grandfather, but she could’ve killed him for it.  
The haze in Clint’s eyes had crushed her. The way he retreated threatened to break her heart. From the moment they had met one another, he had been the perfect gentlemen, but he had never shied away from a fight. Never once had he backed down as he had in front of the hypocritical old man.   
She knew it was for her. But she didn’t have to like it.   
She knew he knew she was there as she approached, hesitant as it was. He was like that, always cataloguing every movement. She had seen it in plenty of the people she treated, soldiers and abuse victims alike in this way, both fighting a war on two fronts.   
“He’s wrong, you know,” she said casually, leaning against the old wood fence of the corral.  
“No, he’s not.”  
She frowned at the words as his arm dropped tiredly to his side. She supposed it was exhaustion that made his shoulders slump. At least, she preferred that idea to the one of defeat.   
“He’s from the older generation. He thinks he knows what you do. You saved me, Clint. You’re not a killer. Soldiers are not killers.”  
“But what if I killed before that?”  
She swallowed, wondering if this was what made him scream in the night.  
“Then you did it because you had to. Because the Clint I know? He is a good man. Past or no past.”  
He dropped his bow on the ground, turning to her. The look in his eyes made her knees weak. Hope, perhaps. Certainty, maybe.  
“And if I had a chance to do better? Wipe the red from my ledger?”  
She mustered her courage, “Would it help you sleep at night?”  
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.   
She went to him, allowing him to pull her close and bury his face in her hair. “We are all the masters of our destiny, my love,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “We all make choices and pray they’re the right ones.”


	3. Storyteller

“And then, Auntie Tasha blew up the building, yes she did,” Clint grinned at the baby’s tiny yawn. 

She watched him, smiling as he rocked the baby gently. He had adapted to fatherhood with the same grace he adapted to everything else. That is to say, he cursed and fumbled and finally got the hang of it on the fly and was suddenly better than everyone else. 

“So now, the very bad men were chasing us, yes they were, and there was flaming rocks flying from the sky, weren’t there? Yeah,” he wiggled the finger their baby grasped, grinning wildly.

She was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped grinning since the little tyke had descended from her womb. 

“Are you telling my son government secrets?”

He smiled innocently at her, “They’ll be declassified in a few years.”

When she raised an eyebrow, he amended, “A few hundred years.”

She laughed.


	4. Shadows

Shadows

The shadows seemed to whisper of darkness as she trudged back to her car, the twelve hour shift she had just ended weighing down on her like several months’ worth of ER shift laundry. Her back ached, her feet ached, her head ached. She doubted there was a significant part of her that didn’t ache. 

It wasn’t very surprising that she didn’t notice the men until they surrounded her and her car, guns pointed her way. 

She wanted to roll her eyes. She was exhausted. Men in tracksuits should show up at the beginning of her shift when she felt well enough to deal with them. Still, a part of her considered getting in her car away and driving off. 

The dumb goons corralled her into a van and took her to some seedy apartment complex at least ten minutes away from the hospital. She was beginning to think her scrubs played more into this situation than her charming smile and quick wit. 

When they showed her the broken man stretched out over a table, she couldn’t help but gasp. 

“Seriously?”

Of course, it was her luck. The one guy she had liked in ages. The one gentleman who had kissed her cheek politely at the end of their dates, who had been funny and smart and kind. Part of the stupid tracksuit mafia. 

She stepped forward, “You better have a good explanation for this one,” she hissed between her teeth, before snapping at one of the mobsters to fetch supplies. 

Clint winced, staring up at her with his one good, unswollen eye, “Sorry?”


	5. Agnes

Agnes

“We are not naming her Agnes.” 

“It was my grandmother’s name,” he said softly, smiling at the pair in the rocker, his own arms full of their toddler son. 

“Your mom’s mom?” The baby girl let out a small sigh, shifting. She patted her bottom and stared at her husband.

“She died when I was seven. She always gave us chocolate for Christmas, and new sweaters.”

She knew about her husband’s past, knew there were precious few good memories from his childhood. She nodded.

“Lila Agnes.”

The grin he gave her was blinding.


End file.
